


Last words and Lost loves

by Gilrin (GilornethTheGold)



Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, BOTFA feels, Battle of Five Armies, Book thief-fusion, Canonical Character Death, Death narrates the story, Death(book thief), F/M, Grief, Heartbreak, Implied Deaths, Love, Mourning, Movie Reference, Not A Fix-It, Sad!Bilbo, death is obsessed with colors, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilornethTheGold/pseuds/Gilrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a small story really, featuring, amongst other things:<br/>-Myself(that is Death. I get to have the top position)<br/>-a bloody battle.<br/>-A dying dwarven king.<br/>-A dead defiler.<br/>-A halfling burglar.<br/>-The dying dwarf sister-sons of a dying dwarf uncle.<br/>-Pearly-white tears.</p><p>~A last note from your narrator~<br/></p><div class="center">
  <p>I am haunted by mortals</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Last words and Lost loves

**Author's Note:**

> I need to get this out of my system.

A battle. Particularly vicious one. You might be asking why it affects me so? Surely death can manage to carry some thousands of departed souls on his shoulders. Of course no one can really observe me executing the horrifying task. Except for those already dead.

Orcs are the most difficult to bear. My greatest gratitude to Eru that I do not have to carry them. I have to avert my gaunt eyes somewhere else when faced with their decapitated remains, and pinch my nose to prevent smelling that revolting stench they reek of. And death’s job is easier they say.

So we are back to the eve of battle, and my arms are aching with the amount of souls I have already deposited before the halls of Mandos. I do not have the luxury of indulging fatigue. I am compelled to continue on for death waits for no man, and if it does it usually does not wait long.

Dwarves don’t make it any easier, with all their thrashing about. Men are much gentler, more resigned to their fates. Still it does not comforts me to be the transport of these mortal vessels. But who am I to question the complicated ways of the world?

**~An Important Fact~  
I only carry mortals.**

I do not carry elves. Apparently they do not perish. Except for Luthien. And it was the peak of my career when I carried her to rest. Almost got promoted.

Almost.  
…………………………………………

There is a stifling silence reigning over the Ravenhill when the Defiler exhales his final breath. You may say that I was holding my own in gross anticipation, and heaved a sigh of the greatest relief when the foul creature ceased to exist. The world is finally free from his accursed footfalls and relentless wreckage. I made it my business to carefully trample over his corpse while drawing closer to Oakenshield.

It breaks my deathly heart to see him.

For there is no trace of triumph on his face. No sense of victory blooms in his heart, which throbs dully, at finally slaying his bitterest foe.

**~A Small Note Of Concern~  
You know what happens next. Kindly leave.  
Or brace yourself**

The battle is still going on, Thorin registers. He takes a few tentative steps towards the edge of the frozen cliff, every footfall seems a punishment as a wave of excruciating pain surges in his broken body. Still he remains on his feet. He is determined and obstinate. I gave you that.

The king moves with slow, precise strides, taking in his last glance of Erebor and the legions that lay before her. The melancholy slate of clouds break as the sun shows her radiant head from behind. The sky is a ball of clashing hues; slate grey, golden yellow and a blood red with small puffs of cloud-spat blue. But red stands distinguished from others.

**~An Understood Fact~  
Red is the color of blood. Except for Orc's blood. Which is black. But there is no need for black to appear in the sky for the ground is already splattered with it.**

I make it my business to notice the spectrum, entranced by the many colors to provide a distraction from Oakenshield's resigned face. I am feeling definitely queasy. Death is not usually affected by mortal afflictions. Like anger. Joy. Tears. Laughter.

Well I consider them mortal afflictions. Views do differ.

Dizziness overcomes the dwarf. Oakenshield's stout and now broken form gives way, just as he feels the warm rays of sun on his blood-matted head. It seems to soothe him. I do not know why. Always preferred the silvery rays of the moon in the dark cloak of night.

He plummets to the ground heavily, with a heavy groan and many heavy breaths. My time is still not ripe, so I can not help. Believe me when I sincerely inform you, that I do want to help him. Again he attempts to stand, when he feels the immense shadows flying across the sky. A vain effort. Stubbornness.

The eagles, his mind vaguely registers.

Out of the velvety black (or chocolaty brown. I am a great admirer of both), a scurrying of feet is heard and in the next moment his hazy eyes make out the pale face of his beloved burglar, blood streaming her face, her honey curls now matted with mud. An ugly bruise appears on the side of her side, but she cares for nothing at the moment except for the dwarf. Or she would have sensed my presence.

"Thorin!" the halfling cries as she kneels besides his sprawled out form. Oakenshield merely smiles, reaching out to feel her soft curls, the apples of her plump cheeks and her smooth skin. For one last time.

**~A Thought-Provoking Question~  
How does one breaks the news of demise of a beloved one?**

"I am glad that you are here," the dwarf says, the rich timbre of his voice rasping out. "I wish to part with you in friendship and take back by harsh words and deeds at the gate."

Suddenly, I am reminded of the day when I first became acquainted with Oakenshield. At the death of his grandfather. It always begins at the end. He was young than but his spirit was the same. Fiery hot. Noble. Brave. Unyielding.

I had hoped then that they day we would come face to face was far off. Now I don't. It might have spared the burglar of the numbing grief if he had fallen earlier. Before she formed any attachment with him.

"I sorely regret the way I treated you, for making you a part of my perils. I am so sorry." The dwarf coughs up blood, knowing his moments were limited. I was counting them. An inexplicable importance was tied with his words. The burglar senses them, though her eyes brim up with tears of sorrow, she cradles his cheek gently saying. 

"I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. It's more than any Baggins deserves." The hitch in her voice was unmistakable.

The tiniest of smile appears on Oakenshield's face. That was his Bilbo. A self-depreciating creature, not knowing her own worth. Not knowing how much brave and of a heroic kind she was. Not knowing how much she meant to him.

Argh. Things that inflict these mortals. For I have never experienced love. Don't get me wrong I have nothing against it. But what's the point of being bound in love only to be parted later? At the end Death is blamed. Death alone. Not mortals for loving so foolishly.

"Farewell dearest burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees watch them grow. The world would have been a merrier place if more of us valued home above hoarded gold." 

I am surprised. Astonished. Stunned. Shocked to find dripping moisture in my own hollows of eyes. Mortal tendencies indeed. Usually I struggle when someone hangs on the golden thread that separates life and death. I get wearied. Impatient. Not now. Not today. Today I want that thread to remain hanging, while usually I want to snap it with my bare teeth.

"You are not going anywhere," Bilbo says and tears freely cascade down her cheeks, falling on Oakenshield's face due to the proximity they shared. "You are not going to leave me."

So she had sensed myself standing fixated to the spot. Heard my shallow breathing. Smelled the inevitable death. Heard my soft footfalls. But she couldn't see me. Not yet. But Oakenshield could.

**~A Small Intrusion~  
Death is seen by those dying.**

Thorin brings her blotched face closer to his own, their breaths mingling. He touches his forehead with hers, feeling life draining from himself. Sensing me take place of it.

"Never love," he says gently, caressing her hand. "I will always live in your heart. In that place my memories would remain fresh. Fresh as the newly strewn snow. And in that place I will always love you."

I extend my clammy arms and took possession of his soul. Couldn't bear his last words. The scarred me as they scarred her. They scarred her just as the golden heir's death was to haunt her restless dreams.

Until Death would claim her too and ease her passing.

Was Oakensheild taunting her? Or reassuring her of his internal presence? That his memories would remain forever bound with hers?

The burglar watches him breath his last. Views his once sapphire blue eyes lose the glimmer of life. Watches his body go limp. 

Even in death, Oakenshield looks so gallant. Finally at peace, some might say. Only I felt his resistance at being parted from her.

**~A Fact Of Life~  
They were never meant to be.**

I have my prey in my arms. My task is nearly fulfilled. Why then I linger on, here? In this desolated place. Too desolate for even my comfort. Usually I like desolated places. They are like a shelter for me, from my weary and constant job. I am not often allowed to stay there. But so far, my schedule is my my own.

Even as tears blur her hazel eyes (a color that always fascinated me. Flickers from brown to green to blue), the burglar pressed her soft lips against the roughness of his cold one's. She kisses Oakenshield firm and true. He tastes of blood and her own salty tears. Of emptiness and regret in the shadows of trees. Of long memories and lost love.

Slowly, I walk away Oakenshield's soul clasped firmly in my arms. Usually, I just fling them back on my shoulder. But not this time. I cradled him, wending my path through the darkened lanes, with watery eyes and a bitter heart. I take one long glance back. She still weeps incapable of saying farewell. And in a rare moment of self-reprimand, I feel guilt. Feel it consume me.

My path does not cross with the burglar again until her time comes. In the long years since she knew this world, the burglar was heartily tired of it. Her soul embraced me upon sight, like an old friend. Usually it's the other way.

When the dwarves discovered them, it is an unconscious form of a halfling buried within the bloody flesh of their late king.

Death has long since fled that place.

.............................................

When Bilbo comes to her senses, her words were vague and incomprehensible. She says strange things.

Something about a kiss.  
Something about an insufferable idiot.  
How many times did she have to say goodbye?

The first, proper thought to appear in her mind was to find Kili. To console him. Surely his pain was greater than her. Maybe they could comfort in each other's company. Maybe.

The thing that utterly breaks her, was another bitter truth. Death had claimed the him too.

**~A Last Note From Your Narrator~  
I am haunted by mortals**

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm *offers apologies and runs to take cover*
> 
> I am not a big fan of death fics and will forever remain in denial about Durin's deaths. But the pain has not lessened a bit even after re-watching Botfa and I needed to write something like this, despite usually going for happy fics.
> 
> And someone a Bagginshield shipper at tumblr said that Bilbo must have kissed Thorin of-screen like Tauriel did with Kili. And......*Words fail*
> 
> Feedback pretty please?


End file.
